mckenzington

when your arms first collided with me i felt as if i had known you for years, and technically i had, but not in that way. you laughed into my ear and i held fast to your hands because i was drunk and it was late and i couldn't lose this feeling. jello shots were held in the air and as you reached for one i still held onto your hands. i was waiting for the next necessary step, wanting to let the messy drunk hook up run its course, and it didn't. although i pulled your sweater off and tossed it to you in one hasty and indifferent gesture, the feeling of the fabric lingered on me even as i ended the night at home. when we drank limeade and gin on your balcony i leaned back in my chair and you asked me how my summer has been. as i replied i could see the way you listened to me, how your eyes sparkled and you smiled at me for no reason. i knew then that nothing had died a month ago, and my mistake was written in the way you looked at me. when i spent the morning at your house an

give me beautiful words and i will give you mine and then nothing will be left for anyone else then our words will have conquered  like rome conquered greece with weapons but do not forget that greece conquered rome with love. 

As the ocean reaches out to me the sand escapes and flows over my toes  and I dig them deeper, the coarseness soothes. And I realize there is something so simple  about the amniotic water lapping in and out of the mouths of clams. The ocean reaches further, she wraps around the bare skin of my feet and I curl my toes but the saltwater is cold and the tide is strong. I was not born here, but I see a womb in the cluster of mussels on the side of a dilapidated fishing boat. I was not born here, but here I am.